th the crowd and
prostrated herself in the abbey, and, mingling her prayers with the
coarse desires of the peasants around her, she prayed that she might be
fruitful a second time; but it was in vain, and then she thought that
she was being punished for her first fault, and she was seized by
terrible grief. She was wasting away with sorrow; her husband was also
aging prematurely, and was wearing himself out in useless hopes.

Then war broke out between them; he called her names and beat her. They
quarrelled all day long, and when they were in their room together at
night he flung insults and obscenities at her, choking with rage, until
one night, not being able to think of any means of making her suffer
more he ordered her to get up and go and stand out of doors in the rain
until daylight. As she did not obey him, he seized her by the neck and
began to strike her in the face with his fists, but she said nothing
and did not move. In his exasperation he knelt on her stomach, and with
clenched teeth, and mad with rage, he began to beat her. Then in her
despair she rebelled, and flinging him against the wall with a furious
gesture, she sat up, and in an altered voice she hissed: "I have had
a child, I have had one! I had it by Jacques; you know Jacques. He
promised to marry me, but he left this neighborhood without keeping his
word."

The man was thunderstruck and could hardly speak, but at last he
stammered out: "What are you saying? What are you saying?" Then she
began to sob, and amid her tears she continued: "That was the reason why
I did not want to marry you. I could not tell you, for you would have
left me without any bread for my child. You have never had any children,
so you cannot understand, you cannot understand!"

He said again, mechanically, with increasing surprise: "You have a
child? You have a child?"

"You took me by force, as I suppose you know? I did not want to marry
you," she said, still sobbing.

Then he got up, lit the candle, and began to walk up and down, with his
arms behind him. She was cowering on the bed and crying, and suddenly he
stopped in front of her, and said: "Then it is my fault that you have
no children?" She gave him no answer, and he began to walk up and down
again, and then, stopping again, he continued: "How old is your child?"
"Just six," she whispered. "Why did you not tell me about it?" he asked.
"How could I?" she replied, with a sigh.

He remained standing, motionless.